


Smushed's BBC Sherlock Ficlets

by Smushed



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Comforting, Dark!Lock, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Multi, Role Playing, Sheriarty - Freeform, Snogging, Violence, daddy!lock, explicit - Freeform, jimlock, john in a skirt, some blood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-20 03:12:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1494421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smushed/pseuds/Smushed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prompts I get at smush-ed.tumblr.com and smushedwrites.tumblr.com will be posted here with my ficlets, plus here I can edit any mistakes I make (as sometimes I get over excited and make errors), I will update the tags as I go!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> elevensgreatlove asked:
> 
> Prompt : Sherlock is usually quite chaste about the way he dresses around 221B, but one evening, John comes home early. He discovers the detective in nothing but a towel, and finds himself flustered by everything from Sherlock's pale neck to his hipbones.

Much to his relief, John had managed to get the rest of the afternoon off, so he decided to head back to the flat. He stepped up the stairs, thinking about what to have for dinner, when he found Sherlock in the kitchen. At first, his heart froze in his chest and spread to his gut, similar to that brief moment of fear one gets when they miss a step on the stairs. He thought, for a split second, that Sherlock was naked. He was  ~~un~~ fortunate to discover that Sherlock had in fact wrapped a towel around his hips. 

"Oh, you’re back." Sherlock spoke without turning.

"Uh-" John cleared his throat, tilting his head downwards slightly and looking up with his eyes. "Yeah. Early." 

Sherlock was intrigued at what John was perplexed by, upon turning around he saw him slightly red faced and his shoulders hunched. 

"What is it?" 

John’s eyes roamed then, Sherlock’s milky pale skin, the protruding muscles of his arms and abdominals beneath taut flesh, the slight sight of his ribcage upon every inhale. There were deep shadows at his collarbone, his Adams apple bobbed as he spoke (no longer shrouded by a scarf or coat collar), his pale pink nipples were symmetrical above a perfectly shaped navel, and the v shape between his pelvis, the hips that created a slight gap in the towel where it was wrapped. Worst of all, he was still  _wet_ from his shower. John’s eyes involuntarily followed a water droplet as it travelled hastily down Sherlock’s animated torso.

"Uh, What? Oh, right… Nothing." He forced his eyes to meet the detective’s again with a small smile. But he was still scarlet red, a big give away, Sherlock deduced from John’s stare what he may have been thinking, and the detective could hardly believe it. He raised his brows at his flatmate and approached him. John went to step back but Sherlock had already snatched his wrist. 

The clear cut signs.

Dilated pupils, quickening pulse. Sherlock rested his lips by the cuff of John’s ear, his breath tickling the doctor for a moment before he pressed the smallest kiss there and walked straight past. 

John was about ready to stumble backwards, to yell at him, to say “what the hell are you playing at?” but when he turned to address his flatmates unruly behaviour, he spotted Sherlock’s towel on the floor and the very brief view of a bare arse leave the room.

He stood in turmoil.  _I’m not gay. I. Am. Not. Gay._ The doctor shook his head and looked at his feet, peripheral vision catching his tell-tale clenched fists. He felt a buzz in his pocket, and read the texts.

Come if convenient. If inconvenient come anyway. SH  
  
Could be dangerous. SH

He left his pride in the kitchen and went to Sherlock’s room.


	2. Please Daddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon: daddy!lock, john in skirt/school uniform, filthy as bloody hell. bless u. *runs*

Sherlock licked his plush lower lip, plump and darkened from the aggression of their kisses, kisses that marked John’s inner thighs and neck. His white shirt had been unbuttoned and spread, revealing John’s scar, raw from Sherlock’s insistent tongue. Chest heaving, tie askew but still fixed around his neck as Sherlock had been using it as a leash. The skirt John had on barely covered his arse, and Sherlock loved it. Sherlock had brought John to the edge twelve times now. So now whenever he so much as grazed the good doctors flesh, the throat would emit incoherent sounds that made Sherlock’s insides tense and his cock become tense in his trousers. He had lasted well so far, keeping himself flaccid for a long time, but now John’s pink flesh and bulge beneath the skirt had Sherlock in a twist and he couldn’t help but growl at his prey on the bed.

"Say it again." The deep baritone commanded, John shook his head slightly, still clinging to the pride, but his arching back would say otherwise. Sherlock tutted and flicked John’s nipple. John’s gaping mouth yelped and he whimpered a slight before speaking.

"Please- please, Daddy-" He begged, skin itching and burning and craving Sherlock’s expert mouth. There was a pause, "Fuck me, Daddy-" John went to roll on his hands and knees, but Sherlock’s large hands gripped his hips and flipped him around before he could move from his drowsy arousal. The force made John keen to Sherlock’s palms. Baritone hummed in John’s ear, and the doctor was so close to snapping out of this schoolgirl facade and telling Sherlock to hurry the fuck up before he felt the head of Sherlock’s cock against his aching and tortured arse, it had been teased for hours without any release. The lubricant nearly caused Sherlock to slip but the detective was keen on extending this. John hissed.

"I wish you could see this," Sherlock’s palm smoothed up the short pleated skirt, hitching it up plump arse cheeks, revealing the round curve of flesh and Sherlock leaned forwards, chest on John’s back, making sure he didn’t slip inside, his hands slid down the front of John’s thighs, gripping the meat of them.

"Please, Daddy…" John pleaded one last time, faint from all the edging, sighing into the pillow.

"Of course, baby." Sherlock purred, lips smiling by John’s ear as he slammed inside him with one efficient snap of his hips. John utterly fell apart beneath him, moaning into the pillow, gripping the bedsheets. "Do you want to come?" Sherlock asked, stupid question, answer obvious.

"P- ple" He started, but Sherlock rolled his hips back and snapped them back again, cutting John’s words short. His mouth gaping, saliva trickling onto the pillow, he was utterly shameless now. "Fuck-" Sherlock tutted at his curses, chuckling quietly before he began a rhythm, and John was so sensitive, if Sherlock shifted his thrusts slightly he would come from his prostate being hit alone.

And as though Sherlock read his mind, he pushed between John’s shoulders so that his chest was against the bed and his arse in the air, and that angle made John’s eyes blow wide before squeezing shut again. “Oh,  _God!_ Oh My God, Sherlock!”

The detective had done well to last this long, especially with that skirt and John’s pink flesh, “Come for me, John.” He demanded, a sheen of sweat glistening on his chest and he cursed as he almost slipped out twice in his reverence, and when John’s body tensed Sherlock followed, both of them stumbling over words and hisses, John soaking the underside of the front of his skirt, Sherlock coming inside him, they toppled over in a heap on the bed, brow’s knitted, sweat sticking the sheets to their bodies they clung to eachother.

"Fucking hell-" John eventually managed.


	3. Jealous John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prompt to myself: Jealous John. (Possessiveness, Kissing)

[smush-ed](http://smush-ed.tumblr.com/post/74666784104/jealous-john):

> He was fucking sick of this. It wasn’t that he could count the amount of women that had kissed Sherlock with one hand, it was that he witnessed them. And each time his stomach dropped. His jaw twisted. His fist tightened. He gaped. Gawped. Sighed. Huffed. Enough. This was the last time.
> 
> Janine left, and Sherlock’s mouth was moving but John wasn’t listening. He watched the detective stroll towards the bathroom, and stalked him each step, one foot behind.
> 
> "John-" Sherlock began, spinning on his heel as he heard John following him, about to tell him to get ready, but he didn’t expect his ex-flatmate to be so close behind him.
> 
> John took Sherlock by the shoulder and spun him before pinning his back to the wall, in a quick movement John’s knee was prying Sherlock’s legs apart and his groin was rubbing up against the detective’s as an enthusiastic hand took Sherlock by the face. John’s lips were sudden and hard, but mostly, possessive. His other hand fisted Sherlock’s loose shirt and the pressure of John against him was immense and heady. The plush lips of Sherlock’s were too stunned to reciprocate, and John, in all his impulsive actions, wouldn’t have noticed Sherlock’s heart racing and excitement if it wasn’t for the fast growing erection.
> 
> The two gasped in unison as John’s competent hips rubbed their cocks together, lips meeting again greedily only this time Sherlock opened his mouth and John’s tongue slid over his.
> 
> Erase her lips. All other lips. No one could kiss Sherlock, not like he could. Sherlock was melting against him now, as he took Sherlock by the arse and hitched him up so that he could grip and stroke and dig his fingers into the meat of the back of Sherlock’s thigh. Sherlock gasped and one groan erupted from those plush lips and into John’s mouth, at that sound John pulled away. “Mine.” He mouthed.
> 
>  


	4. Fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnlock prompt from elisabethshannon: Instead of falling backwards like he did in the show, (say that the bullet hit a less vital place), Sherlock staggers back and hits the wall and John hears and come into to find Sherlock, obviously he rushes over to help keep Sherlock up. Since Sherlock didn’t see Mary call 999, he thinks he’s going to die. He clutches to John and everything that he never said rush through his mind. He tries to talk, but instead he get blood running out of his mouth a few gurgled words like ‘sorry,’ and ‘thank you’, even a ‘I lo-‘, but he doesn’t get to finish because he’s starting to black out. John can feel Sherlock’s blood soaking their shirts he tries to lay Sherlock down to see the wound. Guards hear the noise rush in and see John staggering under Sherlock’s weight and go to help him. They try to help him lay Sherlock on the ground, but Sherlock cries words like’no,’ and ‘John, please.’. He thinks he’s going to die, so he wants to die in John’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short one! Kind of angsty? Kissing, fluff.

John was frantic, heart palpitating in a panic, he hissed and yelled at the guards to  _"Wait a fucking minute! I’m a doctor, back off! Call a bloody ambulance!"._ He was seeing his best friend withered to a bloody mess in his arms, and his legs gave way, he let Sherlock into his lap as he slumped them both to the floor, the detective’s back against his chest as he clutched the bullet wound with a firm grip allowing John to incidentally be hugging Sherlock around the waist. Sherlock tried to speak, and each time John shushed him, “It’s OK, Sherlock, calm down, stay awake, I’m here, I’m here.” He rocked slightly, the pale, slender hands coming to lightly take hold of John’s at his wound. John was craned over, looking at Sherlock’s face, growing paler. That was when John heard it. A plosive ‘k’, a slight hiss of the sibilance of an ‘s’. Kiss? If John hadn’t witnessed Sherlock’s lips say it, or the cheeky twitch of a smile, he would never have believed it. The detective’s eyes, with effort, met John’s, and he nodded. John remembered how much Sherlock  _hated_ repeating himself. What he would never admit was his own heart wrench, his own desire bubble over into his veins as he felt the bloom of how much he  _fucking loved_ this man and why the hell hadn’t he said anything before, or even confessed it to himself? John hadn’t even thought about it, his lips met Sherlock’s plush parted ones and they were kissing, John could taste the metallic pang of Sherlock’s blood and it made his eyes sting with how much he regret not doing this before. He shooed away those thoughts as he gently licked Sherlock’s lip, clasping them once more before pulling away to let Sherlock breathe.

  
"Finally." The detective managed, and John wasn’t sure whether Sherlock meant the kiss, or the paramedics running in to save him.


	5. Consulting Criminals.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:
> 
> Sherlock and Moriarty as criminal masterminds together, lovers on the side?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jimlock, Sheriarty. Very short again, dark!sherlock so be warned! Violence.

James smirked as he watched Sherlock swiftly kick one of their henchman in the face. They both knew he was thinking of double-crossing them, they both saw he was one step away from crawling on his knees to the police. When the dull thud of the body hitting the floor sounded, Jim had his arms around Sherlock’s waist almost as quickly, his hands travelling down Sherlock’s body like he was the most delectable thing he was going to touch. Sherlock stood stock still, straight back, chest still slightly heaving, his body never flinched at Jim’s touch, even though he had watched Moriarty dirty those hands with blood before. Sherlock didn’t flinch until those hands grazed across the front of his trousers, where he shuddered, and Jim’s favourite game was ‘see how loud you can make Sherlock scream’.

The usually composed angular face scrunched when Jim’s hand found its way through the front of his trousers and cupped him through his pants, James’s eager body was grinding into Sherlock from behind, his achingly hard erection between Sherlock’s clothed arse and that is when Sherlock made a sound- not a whimper or a groan, a noise of releasing his tension. Jim and only Jim had that power to make the criminal come undone in his finger tips.


	6. Demoted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous: After failing to catch the Waters gang, and sending every force available to Baker Street for nothing, DCI Lestrade gets demoted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> made it Shestrade, fluff, comforting, sfw.

"Fuck, fuck  _fuck,”_ Greg yelled, kicking the hubcap of his car, seething with rage, he leaned against the side of his car before slipping down and sitting on the cold hard tarmac of the car park. 

Demoted. De-fucking-moted. He shook his head, burying the palms of his hands into the sockets of his eyes, bringing his knees up to his chest, trying to steady his breathing. All of his hard work, his sleepless nights, tossed to the side like fuck all because of one mistake. 

He finally sighed one shaking breath as he withdrew his cigarettes.

"Those things will kill you, you know." Sherlock sounded from the darkness, sweeping dramatically from the shadows with his hands in the pockets of his Belstaff.

"You  _bastard.”_ Greg groaned, head falling back to rest on his car, unlit cigarette between his lips, eyes shut. He couldn’t open them, not for the moment, he had to regain his composure, he couldn’t let the consulting detective see him so wrecked, Sherlock wouldn’t let him live it down. 

He felt it then, without warning, Sherlock had knelt on the floor beside him and threw his arms around Greg’s shoulders, Lestrade could feel hot breath trickle down his neck and into the back of his shirt.

An apology. Sherlock never apologised, not could Greg ever imagine him giving him a hug before now- it was strangely lovely. He brought his hand up and gripped Sherlock’s arm firmly.

"Thank you," He murmured, rubbing Sherlock’s arms. To Greg’s pleasant surprise Sherlock didn’t get up, he perched next to him, bringing his legs up to the same position as Greg’s, allowing their thighs to rest against each other’s. 

Sherlock lit his own cigarette, and using his lit cigarette, lit the tip of Greg’s. Lestrade inhaled, allowing the flame and heat to pass from Sherlock’s cigarette to his own. Sherlock noted Greg’s shaking hand. They both took long drags, Greg resting his left hand on his knee, Sherlock resting his right hand on his right leg, holding their cigarettes. Greg turned to face Sherlock, to thank him again, but Sherlock had already brought his lips towards Greg’s and had clasped mouths with him.

"Thank you." Sherlock punctuated his gratitude with another kiss. The two sat in a comfortable silence, smoking. And Greg thought that maybe if he was demoted in work, he had been promoted in Sherlock’s opinions, and hopefully, the consulting detective’s affections.


	7. Self Conscious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jankymama asked:
> 
> Lestrade has low self esteem after his divorce (maybe he doesn't feel confident about his appearance/was told he was a bad lover by the ex). His low self esteem doesn't help with his new relationship with Sherlock, so Sherlock takes it upon himself to help Lestrade feel better about himself again!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW, sex, begging, comforting, sherstrade

Greg avoided sex like the plague, and it would prevent him from some of the sweeter things in life like cuddling, as he feared it would lead to something more.

His ex, Joanne, let him know at every opportunity just how irritating he was in bed. Even when he tried his hardest, even when he devoted himself to tickling her flesh, massaging her, kissing her inner thighs, he’d even bring her to orgasm with his tongue alone before he would have sex with her, starting slow, he would make sure he had enough stamina, he listened to her body, tried his utmost to make sure her pleasure was first.

It was never enough.

"Hurry up", "Oh, for God’s sake, Greg it’s not an art", "You can’t make me come from sex, it’s fucking annoying", "Fuck me, don’t treat me like a delicate flower", they were one-offs, but enough to slowly ebb at his confidence. He knew that only one in three women could orgasm from penetrative sex, he knew she said these things when she was angry with him, but he couldn’t accept it. He couldn’t reason with them. They echoed in his mind at the most inappropriate times.

So now, when Sherlock had him hard and whimpering into kisses, he wanted to pounce on the detective, he wanted to ravish him, make him feel  _so good._ But he didn’t think he could.

Sherlock had known for a long time, he deduced it long ago at the yard when Greg was beginning to have these turmoils, and he knew now. 

"Greg, please,  _please,_ I’ve been waiting for so long.” Sherlock purred in his ear, “I’m ready, please tell me you are too.” His hand scrolled down to Greg’s erection and palmed it through his jeans. 

Greg was trembling with his nerves, arousal and affection for the detective. He didn’t want to fuck it up.

He nodded, and Sherlock kissed him with reverence, taking Greg to his room, he sat on the bed and pulled Greg down by the belt loops on his jeans. 

Greg fisted Sherlock’s curls, shaking his head slightly. “I… I don’t know-“ 

"I have prepared myself, Greg, you are wonderful. Just… take it slow. Touch me." Sherlock pleaded, and Greg fell apart at Sherlock begging. He stripped him, and every new section of pale flesh he revealed he kissed and sucked, Sherlock became a sensitive wreck by the time his boxers had been peeled off his legs. 

Greg admired the slender body, he hooked Sherlock’s knees and settled between his legs, he kissed Sherlock’s inner thigh, starting from his knee and down to his groin, tonguing kisses beside Sherlock’s testicles and repeating the same action on the other leg. Sherlock was a writhing mess, all of this taking his time was driving him to be desperate, and he loved it. 

Greg finally tongued Sherlock’s balls, finger tip stroking his shaft gently as his tongue travelled further down, to the perineum, and then his arse. Greg had actually researched what to do to make sure he didn’t hurt Sherlock, and his tongue massaged and pressed at his entrance.

"God,  _Christ,_ Greg, oh my God- what are you doing?” Greg stopped and faltered.

"No! Don’t stop, I mean,  _how_ are you doing that.” Sherlock corrected, “Fuck- please.” Sherlock begged, pushing down to Greg’s mouth. Lestrade continued, tongue pressing and slipping inside his tight heat, saliva dripping. He reached over for the lubricant, kissing Sherlock as he did, slow and steady, Sherlock was trembling.

"Are you alright?" Greg asked.

"Yes, yes, I just  _need_ you.” Sherlock stammered, and Greg kissed him to shut him up. He couldn’t take compliments.

He lubricated his fingers and slowly worked Sherlock open. It was tortuously slow to the detective who had been gradually stretching himself for Greg over the past few weeks. Greg silenced Sherlock’s begging with his hot mouth over his prick, taking him down as his fingers worked him open. 

"Oh my God, Greg, please- I need you, just-" Greg was yanked upwards as Sherlock kissed him. "I need you…" He kept repeating. Greg stripped his clothes away, Sherlock assisting, pushing his shirt from his arms and unbuttoning him. Greg had been silent all this while, and when the DI was naked, Sherlock sat up as he knelt in front of him, taking the lubricant he gently fisted Greg’s erection, who hissed at the connection.

"You truly are such a careful lover, Greg. I don’t recall ever feeling this way." Sherlock praised, he craned down and sucked the tip of Greg’s erection. "I’ll be more than sure to return the favour, but for now, please, I need you. Anything you will give me." He panted, lying back and parting his thighs. 

Greg licked his lips as he climbed between Sherlock’s legs, the detective wrapped his legs around his waist and he was lined up. Sherlock kissed Greg as he sank into him, choking out moans at finally being filled by him, finally having Greg inside him.

"God, you’re amazing, you’re so- Ah!" Sherlock was caught off guard by a strong snap of Lestrade’s hips. "God  _yes.”_ Lestrade repeated it, and within moments had a quick pace- it was merciless, and Sherlock was completely surprised, and was soon enough obscenely moaning in his pleasure. 

Lestrade didn’t expect the sheer pitch of the detective’s voice, it was high pitched, a few hisses between clenched teeth, he was grappling for anything. 

"I’m so close already," Sherlock managed before tossing his head back. 

"But I haven’t touched you-" 

"Oh, you don’t  _need_ to, Christ-” His eyes were tightly shut, “Don’t stop-“ 

Greg obeyed Sherlock, holding on for dear life at his own orgasm that was threatening to creep up on him. Sherlock was gasping, and within moments he was almost screaming, Greg covered his mouth with his hand gently but firmly as he soon followed the detective.

"Jesus- I never expected the volume." Greg smiled weakly, lying beside Sherlock and pulling him into his body. Sherlock was limp, trembling from screaming nerves, neither of them cared for the semen that lay between them. 

"And I never expected the sheer perfection of having sex with you." Sherlock noted. Greg blushed. "I mean it, you are… amazing." He kissed Greg deeply, both drifted to sleep before they could get a shower.


	8. Seb, be Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mormor/Sheriarty - Sherlock breaks into Jim's flat to clue for looks, but is taken by surprise when Jim and Sebastian suddenly bustle in passionately kissing and undressing eachother. Sherlock hides in a wardrobe and is forced to listen to all the desperate noises the pair make as reach the bed. A naked Jim straddles on top of Sebastian and notices the creak in wardrobe door from the corner of his eye. He deduces exactly what's happened, smirks, and decides to put on a show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW, threesome, anal sex, blow job, cheeky Jim, flustered Sherlock, obedient Seb

Sherlock spotted it, a notebook, he suspected that Moriarty had one, no doubt full of cryptic clues about his web of criminals. He reached for it, and heard the door. Cursing silently he scooped the little book and leapt on his tip toes into the wardrobe. 

How cliché, he twitched his nose in agitation, but then he heard the distinct sound of kissing. He couldn’t help his voyeurism as he peeked through the gap in the wardrobe door and into the dark room.

Jim was savagely kissing Sebastian Moran against the wall, shoving him by the hips, tousling and fisting his hair, Moran was melting against it, groaning, and Jim had full control. Sherlock could hear Moran chanting “boss, oh Jim, fuck”. Although Moran had more of a build, Jim was strong, and he shoved Moran onto the bed. 

"Strip." He commanded, and that was when Jim noticed his little book was missing. He smirked, and chuckled, and Sherlock held his breath as Jim stalked the bed. Sebastian could see in Jim’s eyes. The Game was on.

"Seb, baby. Pretend you’re Sherlock for me." Jim hummed as he stripped himself. Seb knew then, that Sherlock must be in the room. But Sherlock was too dumbfounded by Moriarty’s request to absorb that they were playing a game. 

Sebastian was expressionless as he tore away his clothing. 

"Deduce me, Moriarty-" He begged, laying himself flat on his back, hands and legs spread so he was star-fished. A lump lay in Sherlock’s throat as his body began to betray him. His collar heated.

Jim stalked up the bed. “And the consulting detective  _has_ been giving me a hard time hasn’t he?” Jim’s hands travelled slowly up Moran’s legs.

"Stop it Moriarty, I’m not playing this game with you."

"Oh but you are, Sherlock. Look how hard you are," His hand stroked up Seb’s erection and he chuckled when the body flinched from the friction. 

"How hard do you find it to say ‘I don’t know’?" Jim asked, settling between Seb’s legs and kissing his inner thighs.

"I don’t know." Seb rehearsed.

"Clever." He praised, kissing the tip of his cock. Sherlock was panting now, and Jim could hear it. 

"How much do you want me to fuck you, Sherlock?" He asked Seb, who nodded enthusiastically. 

"Please-" He began, and Jim bit him hard on the hip.

"He wouldn’t say please, Sebastian." He scolded. "Would you, Sherlock?" Jim looked directly at Sherlock through the gap in the wardrobe and he stepped out. "Join us." 

Within an hour of tentative talking, eventually the criminals convinced him to indulge.

Seb and Jim teamed up on the detective, licking his arse, his cock, kissing his whole body for hours. It was fun, Jim was pleased with how responsive he was, choking back moans and fisting their hair, they brought him to orgasm before letting him enjoy the show of Moriarty fucking Sebastian until he crumpled into a mess of moans and came without being touched. Sherlock wanted to try that.


End file.
